by Bess McBride
The water bubbled, and I removed the cup from the rock to allow it to cool.
“Here,” I said, handing him the cup. “Drink. You lost a lot of blood today.”
“Nay, I will drink after ye.”
I sighed and drank half of the hot liquid before handing the cup to Iskair.
“Now I insist that you drink. I can’t take of myself out here, and I need you, so you have to take care of yourself.”
Iskair took the cup and drank the rest of the liquid. For the next hour, I moved back and forth between the well and the fire while we worked on water. Iskair didn’t mind drinking straight from the well, but I discouraged him from doing so.
At some point, I noticed that Iskair’s eyes were drooping.
“Why don’t you lie down and sleep?”
“Aye, I ken I will fall over soon.” He unhooked the brooch on his sash and spread his cloak out. Leaning down on one elbow, he patted the ground beside him.
“The fire will die soon, lass, and ye will grow cold. Come—lie beside me.”
“Oh!” I whispered.
“To keep warm, that is all. I have no designs upon yer virtue.”
His broad white-toothed smile charmed me.
I rose on shaking legs and moved around to the opposite side of the fire. I knelt down beside Iskair but stiffened when his hands went to the material still tucked into my waistband.
“Ye have need of yer skirts for warmth. Pull yer arisaid around yer shoulders.”
I huddled deeper into the cloth around my shoulders as my skirts billowed around my bent knees. Turning my back to Iskair, I rolled myself into a ball and lay down beside him.
I stiffened when he draped an arm over my waist and pulled me to him. As I lay there frozen, his breath blew on my cheek, soon turning into a purr when he fell asleep.
My own eyes drooped in my warm cocoon, and I drowsed.
Sometime later, a painful urge in my nether regions awakened me, and although I tried to ignore it, the pain wouldn’t go away. I opened my eyes in the darkness. The fire had died out. No embers remained. I eased out of Iskair’s embrace and rose to my knees. A faint light from the moon through the apertures showed his indistinct form.
I rose to my feet and worked my way toward the door with my arms extended in front of me as one does in darkness. I bumped into the door and pushed it open. Thankfully, the moon provided enough light for me to make my way down the stairs. I reached the bottom and moved off to the left a few yards to hitch up my skirts and relieve myself.
Thankfully, the pain passed. I promised myself to pay more attention to the needs of nature. I hardly needed any sort of bladder or kidney infections during my time in the sixteenth century. I rose, moved away and let my skirts fall.
Something came over my mouth, and I screamed mutedly when my arms were pinned to my sides.
A voice muttered something indistinguishable in my ear, and I struggled in my captor’s arms. I knew from his voice he was a man. I knew he was tall and burly, but I couldn’t twist around to see his face.
Suddenly, a sharp cry emanated from the castle, then a shout, and I heard the sound of steel on steel. It lasted only a few moments, and my captor cursed. He dropped me and ran in the direction of the stairs leading to the castle.
“Iskair!” I screamed and ran after the man. Slipping on the first step, I fell to my knees, scraping them.
“Debra!” I heard a voice boom from above. I looked up to see Iskair at the top of the stairs, his face faintly highlighted by the moon. His sword glittered in the light as he brought it down at the intersection of the man’s neck and shoulder.
“No!” I screamed at the same time that my former captor screeched. But it was too late. He slumped and fell off the side of the stairs to land in a thud below. I had no doubt that he was dead. The power of Iskair’s slice must surely have killed the man.
I climbed off the step and crept over to the fallen man.
“Lass, are ye injured?” Iskair called out, descending the steps slowly.
“No,” I whispered, peering down at the man. Too frightened to touch him, I spoke again, my voice coming out in a sob.
“Is he dead?”
“I hope so,” Iskair said, coming up behind me.
I jumped at his nearness and turned to look at him. He smelled of blood...maybe his, maybe the dead man’s. His deadly sword hung from his right hand.
“I heard a scream up there?”
“Aye, there were two. Macleods, the pair of them. I dinna ken if Angus sent them back to find someone, perhaps ye? Or whether they returned to await the men.”
“Two?” I squeaked. “Is the other one dead?”
“Aye,” Iskair said, his voice grim.
I took another step away from him. He had killed two men? Gone was the caramel-eyed man with the warm smile. A blood-spattered Scottish warrior stood in his place. Iskair had killed two men who had probably intended to kill him and take me prisoner.
I was afraid of him.
Iskair raised a hand in my direction, and my body, of its own accord, moved another inch—nothing too dramatic, just enough to keep my distance. I did not want to disrespect what Iskair had done for us, but my body had other ideas. It rejected him...to my shame.
He dropped his hand and spoke in a gruff voice. “Come inside. There may be more.”
“I’ll follow you.” I didn’t think I could handle having Iskair at my back, not just then.
I wiped at the tears streaming down my face as Iskair led the way.
“Wait here by the door until I relight the fire,” he said. I hovered by the door as Iskair walked over and restarted the fire.
I gasped as the growing blaze showed another body just on the other side of the door.
“I can’t do this!” I cried out. “I just can’t do this!” I turned and ran out the door, ignoring Iskair’s voice as he called out to me. I half slid, half tumbled down the stairs and ran to the right, toward the woods. Though I kept my arms outstretched, I soon bumped into a trunk, and I stopped.
Leaning against it, I hugged myself and sobbed. Through my tears, I heard Iskair approach, his feet crunching on fallen leaves. I lifted my head.
“I want to go home! I’ve had enough of medieval Scotland. I can’t do this anymore! Studying it was one thing, but living in it? Totally another. I’m not cut out for this! At all! I need the dagger. My head hurts, and I just want to go home.” I ran out of air, and my voice dwindled off into a pitiful note.
I bent double again, crying, my face pressed into my hands. A warm hand touched the top of my head, and I involuntarily jerked. Iskair dropped his hand.
“Are ye frightened of me?”
I nodded. “I am! I’m sorry. I know you saved our lives, but I’ve never seen such violence. I am frightened...of everything!”
“If I could help ye return home, I would, lass, but I didna ken the meaning of all yer words. Ye study medieval Scotland, but ye dinna ‘live it’? Why do ye need a dagger to go home?”
I had hoped that Iskair would ignore most of my ranting, but I had already noted his intelligence. He didn’t miss much.
“I was just ranting,” I murmured.
“Nay, I dinna think so. I presume this is what ye said Ann and Cynthia wished to speak to me about?”
Exhausted, I nodded.
“Tell me now then so that I may help ye return to yer home...if I can.”
“You can’t,” I said.
“No if ye dinna give me a chance!”
My legs gave out, and I slumped to the bottom of the tree, hugging my knees to my chest.
“Are we to sit here then?”
“I am,” I said dully.
“Verra well.” Iskair lowered himself to the ground, albeit gingerly, sitting cross-legged. He left about four feet between us, space that I desperately needed at the moment. He looked uncomfortable.
“Are you in pain?” I asked.
“A bit. Tell me then. Why do ye need a dagger? Ye called it
‘the dagger.’”
Chapter Eleven
I breathed a heavy sigh, gulped some air and began.
“This is not just my secret,” I said, “but given that we don’t know what the future holds, you need to know about me...and I guess about Dylan, Ann and Cynthia. I really hope I’m not blowing things for them.”
“Blowing things?”
“Making things difficult for them.”
“I am known for discretion,” Iskair said. “I have my secrets as well.”
I nodded. “Yes, I think you do.”
“Where is this dagger that ye speak of?”
“In the water off the beach near the boathouses on Dun Eistean. It was dragged offshore by a wave, and Dylan and I couldn’t retrieve it. I don’t think it was taken out to sea though. It’s pretty heavy.”
“A strange place for a dagger.”
“Yes.”
“What is the significance of the dagger?”
“It’s a bit of a talisman. It facilitates traveling through time for certain people.” I tried to speak as dispassionately as possible. The darkness helped.
“Beg yer pardon?”
“It’s a talisman. Certain people who hold it have traveled through time, all from the twenty-first century to the sixteenth century as far as I can tell. And all women, with the exception of Dylan, but he was holding my hand when we traveled.”
Iskair didn’t respond right away, and I waited, my heart racing. Time passed, and I prompted him.
“Iskair? You heard me, right?”
Iskair cleared his throat.
“Aye, I heard ye. But I dinna ken what to say. I am thinking on yer words.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling my knees close and resting my chin on them. “I’ll wait.”
At length, Iskair spoke. “Ye are telling me that ye and yer brother have come from the future?”
“Yes.”
“And others? Ye suggested there were others? Women?”
“Yes. This part is hard. I hope I’m not making an awful mistake, but their husbands know, so...”
“Cynthia and Ann,” he said.
“Yes.”
“The four of ye speak the same. No all were raised in Constantinople.”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry. That was a lie.”
“Aye. I suspected as much.”
“Catherine had asked about my accent, why it wasn’t English, and I gave her some silly story...forgetting that Ann and Cynthia have a similar accent.”
“Yer brother speaks wi a Scots accent.”
“Dylan isn’t my brother. He’s really from Scotland.”
Iskair drew in a sharp breath. “No yer brother?” he repeated. “Ye did seem verra close to him. Who is he to ye then?”
“Dylan and I were...” I paused. “In a relationship. We were close, as you say.”
“How ‘close’?”
I heard the anger in Iskair’s voice. I felt judged, even though I knew rationally that Iskair was a man of his time.
“Close, Iskair! Close. We dated, spent time together, you know!” I snapped.
“No, I dinna ken. Ye did this ‘dated’ wi’out benefit of chaperone?”
“It’s different in the twenty-first century, Iskair. We do not have the same restrictions that you force upon women now. We’re more liberated. We have more say over our lives, what we do, how we live.”
“So it seems!” he ground out.
“Anyway, this isn’t really about Dylan. I hoped you would be more understanding, more tolerant of what I told you.”
“That ye have traveled wi a man out of wedlock?”
“No!” I said irritably. “That I have traveled through time.”
“Aye! Traveling through time indeed. And when do ye plan to return to yer time?”
“When I find the dratted dagger!”
“It is a pity that we cannot return to Dun Eistean to collect it for yerself and yer man.”
“He’s not my man! We broke up last year.”
“Broke up? What do ye mean by ‘broke up’?”
“Ended our relationship. It wasn’t permanent, as it happens.”
“I should say no given yer ‘liberated’ ways!”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! It wasn’t my choice to end the relationship really. Dylan seemed to have fallen in love with Cynthia.”
“Cynthia! But she is married! Yer man is quite the bounder! I kent that the first time I laid eyes upon him.”
“I don’t think they acted on it. Cynthia was in love with Torq Morrison. Oh, I don’t know why we broke up! Maybe it had nothing to do with Cynthia and everything to do with lying. Dylan knew that Cynthia and Ann had traveled through time, and he lied to me about them. I hate lying!” I finished my rant.
“Do ye now? For a woman who hates lying, ye certainly do a fair amount of it. Do ye ken ye can even tell me yer real name wi honesty? Is it Debra? Are ye a Morrison or no?”
“It is Debra! Debra Donaldson, if you must know! And no! I’m not a Morrison. Not even close!”
“Hold yer voices down!” a man hissed in the darkness. I gasped and looked up to see a group of men surrounding us. Iskair and I had been too angry with each other to hear them move in.
I jumped up.
“Ye will bring every Macleod within a hundred miles down on us with yer jabbering!”
Iskair rose more slowly.
“John, cousin. Ye have come.”
“Aye, Iskair. I dinna ken what ye two are shouting about, but Iain brought word that the Macleods were after the bairns and that ye were bringing the people here to Knockbost Castle. If ye meant to hide here, ye should no be shouting here in the dark.”
The tall man turned to me and bowed.
“And ye will be the new arrival? Iain said ye came wi yer brother?”
“Brother!” Iskair said with a snort.
I gritted my teeth. The group of mostly tall men intimidated me. Having seen Iskair in action, I supposed them all capable of unadulterated violence.
“Yes, I’m Debra.” Unsure of who knew what in the group, I avoided using my last name. “Iskair, you need to tell him.”
“Tell me what? How is my lady, Iskair? The babes? Sarah and Archibald? Are they upstairs?”
“The castle is dark. Does everyone sleep?” another man asked.
“Iskair,” I pressed.
“Macleod took everyone. I dinna ken about the lads, but they took the women and children.”
A fist flew out of nowhere, and with a growl, the last man to speak tackled Iskair, knocking him to the ground.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop! He’s hurt! What are you doing?”
I threw myself into the melee as the two men rolled on the ground. Somehow, I took a punch to the side of my jaw. My head spun.
“Stop this at once!” John bellowed. “Ye’ve hurt the lass, Torq!” He grasped Torq by his jacket collar and pulled him off Iskair.
“I am verra sorry, mistress,” Torq said before turning to Iskair, writhing on the ground in some pain. “Why did ye no protect them? Ye sit out here under the stars and let them take our women and bairns?”
I covered Iskair with my body.
“He fought them off, but they shot him. He just killed two of them less than an hour ago. You people are so violent!”
“How badly is he injured, mistress?” John asked.
“I don’t know now. I got the bleeding stopped earlier, but he’s been through a lot since then.”
I lifted the hem of his kilt to check for moisture at his bandage site, but Iskair fought me.
“Leave me some dignity in front of the men, lass,” Iskair panted, rolling over to his knees to rise.
“I’m sorry. I was just checking your bandage.”
“See to him, mistress,” John said as the men moved in unison, running toward the castle.
“You guys!” I muttered. “So that was Torq.”
“Aye,” Iskair said. “He is verra angry. I dinna blame him.”
“Well, I don’t blame him for being upset, but he’s pretty quick to anger. Are you in pain? Can I check your wound?”
“Torq is easily angered. I am fair sore.”
He pulled aside his kilt just enough to let me feel the bandage. I couldn’t see if he bled in the darkness, but the bandage felt far too wet.
“I think you’re bleeding again. We have to get back to the castle so I can see what’s going on.”
“Aye.” He pushed himself up and wobbled a bit. I wrapped my arm around his waist, momentarily forgetting my fear of him, and we walked back toward the castle.
A light flickered inside, and upon entering, we saw the fire had been relit. Several men, including one young teenage boy, fashioned crude torches before scattering in several directions to investigate the rest of the castle.
Iskair moved over to the fire and dropped down, pressing his back against the wall. I wanted to check his wound but waited until the men had moved up the stairs. I pulled the bandage away to see that a renewed stream of blood flowed.
“We have to do something. I wonder if one of them knows how to stitch.”
The teenager reappeared at the bottom of the stairs just then.
“I ken the laird could stop the bleeding with his sword and fire. He has done it enough.”
“Cauterizing!” I exclaimed as the youngster walked up to us. “Who are you?”
“Andrew Morrison, mistress. Torq is my uncle.”
“Andrew is a cousin to me,” Iskair said, his face pale even in the reflected red light of the fire.
“Well, it follows that you are all related. You’re all Morrisons on a small island.”
John reappeared, his broad shoulders sagging. Blond and as handsome as a Viking, I could see why Ann had fallen for him. He looked so very discouraged.
“I see no blood other than one area. I think the Macleods took everyone without injury.”
Iskair nodded. He looked up at John. “I am so verra sorry, John.”
“Ye were shot, Iskair. There was naught ye could do.”
“I know this isn’t the time, but Andrew here says that you could probably stop Iskair’s bleeding. It started again, and he’s losing a lot of blood. I removed the pistol shot earlier.”
Dark-red liquid seeped down to the floor beneath Iskair.